Secret Heart
by iTomato
Summary: Bella & Edward share an epic love, but before them, a teenager met a handsome doctor, and his face haunted her until she found him again. [CarlisleEsme]


A/n: I've never read a Carlisle/Esme fic nor see one, and they need more love! Thanks to the darling Meesh for her beta :)

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**Occurrence the First**

**Spring, 1911: Part One**

It was possibly one of the nicest days of the season, and Esme Platt was perfectly content with spending the hours outdoors. She sat at the base of a tree, one of the few scattered about her family's land, legs crossed at the ankles and skirt ruffling in the breeze. Her hands, small and soft, were folded in her lap, and her caramel hair (cut short, simply to spite her parents) rested neatly around her face. She was a bit disheartened as of late—her friends, although they were all the same age, had taken a sudden liking in sitting at home and only going out in groups, giggling like ninnies when an attractive man walked by. It was ludicrous, but Esme could do nothing to dissuade them.

Leaning her head back against the tree trunk, she stared into the leaves, fresh green and fully alive. A childish desire overcame her suddenly, but she did nothing to force it down. Getting to her feet, she stole a quick glance around her before reaching for the lowest branch. With a puff of air and a push off the ground, she began to climb.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd climbed a tree. Being sixteen years old, it was hardly customary for her to do so, but there was no one around, and the tree was simply _perfect_ for climbing. Her hands wound around each branch, as she ascended, making sure her foot was secure each time she moved.

Once high enough, she settled on a thicker branch, letting her legs straddle it. She giggled to herself at the thought of her father finding her out here: legs bare and skirt a complete mess. From her knees down, she began to swing her feet, clutching her hands on the tree for support. Climbing the tree had really been a good idea.

A piece of bark began digging into her skin, and Esme found herself leaning forward to avoid the annoyance. At the same time, her hands slipped, and her balance was lost. The next thing she knew, she was falling, and although the feeling was exhilarating, something worse would be waiting at the bottom.

She collided with the ground, leg first, hearing a loud crunch. At first, there was nothing. And then, excruciating pain exploded in her calf, a scream escaped her throat.

**Spring, 1911: Part Two**

Esme sat in the back of her parents' cart—momentarily, she made note of their such old fashioned ideals: why didn't they just buy one of those automobiles?—reeling in pain. Each time she reached for her leg, her mother smacked her hand away.

"It'll only be worse if you touch it, Esme!" she scolded, a stern but concerned glare on her mother's face. "Just sit tight. We'll be in town in no time."

Her mother's words were hardly comforting, and her father's silence was just as bad. It figured that the moment the local doctor went out of town on errand, something would happen that required medical aide.

The sky was dimming as they finally reached the town. Her father muttered something about filthy Catholic hospitals and made a beeline for a smaller, Protestant based hospital a few streets down. By the time he arrived at his intended destination, the sun had disappeared over the horizon, leaving a black sky full of stars and hazy clouds. Writhing in pain, Esme muttered, "Can we _please_ just go inside?" when her father paused to gaze at the heavens above.

Breaking his concentration, he apologized to his daughter and quickly lifted her, carrying her inside with ease. Esme knew she looked hideous; she'd been crying hysterically. Her eyes, she just _knew_ it, were puffy and bloodshot, and her cheeks, of _course_, were bloated and splotched with hints of red. She hated crying.

A nurse directed them towards an empty room, and Esme found herself lying on a rather soft cot, leg still twitching in pain. It was ridiculous how much effort it had taken just to get to this point.

She was alone; her mother had gone to use the lavatories, and her father had gone to inquire about the issue of cost. With tears still pouring from her eyes, she blew a tuft of hair out of her face angrily. It was moments like these where she swore her parents saw her as nothing more than a chore.

Staring at the ceiling seemed like a good thing to do, and it could temporarily take her mind off the pain of her leg. It was during one of those moments when he must have walked in, because he hadn't been there before, nor had she heard him arrive.

"Hello miss," he greeted politely, a smile on his lovely face. "I'm Doctor Carlisle Cullen."

**Spring, 1911: Part Three**

She could only stare. She'd never seen anyone so… _beautiful_ in her entire life. He was rather tall, but it suited him, and his hair was the most luscious shade of blonde she'd ever seen. His eyes were a soft, friendly amber-gold, and despite the dark circles under his eyes, he seemed wide-awake and energetic. "Am I correct in assuming you are Esme Platt?" he asked. She couldn't help but inwardly swoon at the sound of his voice again, and she was pretty sure his presence had stopped her tears. "Miss Platt?"

"I'm sorry," she blurted out suddenly, attempting to sit up, only to come crashing back to reality with a fresh dose of agony shooting up her body. She cringed and collapsed once again.

"Careful now," he said, closing the distance between the cot and himself within seconds far too fast and placing a hand on her shoulder. Even through her shirt, she was surprised at how cold his fingers were. It almost sent a shiver up her spine. "And there's no need for an apology," he smiled, pulling his hand away. "I've been told you fell out of a tree?"

Nodding was all she could do, as she was once again captivated by him, this Doctor Cullen. He looked so… young. He could only be a few years older than her. There was no way he surpassed the age of twenty-five, and she was being generous. He could be younger.

His right hand, cool and gentle, came to rest on her knee, as he examined her calf, bending his frame slightly to do so. She was silent as he did his job, trying to carry idle conversation with her. His voice was calm and friendly, and she nearly forgot she was in a hospital bed when he finally got her to talk. The pain from her broken leg seemed far off and out of place as she spoke with the pleasant doctor, and he had even gotten her to laugh—something she hadn't truly done for a while.

She almost felt as if she now knew why her friends had turned into giggling ninnies whenever an attractive man was near.

**Spring, 1911: Part Four**

"Well, Miss Platt—"

"Oh, please," she interrupted. "Just call me Esme. It makes me feel so old when people refer to me as 'Miss Platt'."

Doctor Cullen smiled before continuing, "Well then, _Esme_," he corrected, "it appears you do indeed have a broken leg, as if you didn't already know. You'll need some bed rest for a while, and in a few weeks, you should test your strength. A check up once a month will also be for the best until the bones are healed."

"If I can get my parents to agree to it," she muttered.

He raised a curious eyebrow—a genuinely curious eyebrow, she noted. "Your parents—"

"It's nothing, really," she sighed. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Of course," he nodded, and he was silent on the matter, not prying. He began to hum, as he quickly scanned over his notes before turning back to her. "That's really all there is to it. The bandage will also have to be changed, given some time, but I'm afraid I may not necessarily be the one to do it."

"Why not?"

"I'll be leaving within the month," he smiled halfheartedly, and her heart skipped a beat. Esme felt her face fall, and he quickly added, "I have a tendency to move along from place to place. It's hard for me to stay settled, and I hear there's a hospital in Chicago that could use a hand."

Her lips curled into an 'o,' and she nodded. "That's… understandable," she said.

"I'm sorry. I seem to have upset you," he said, expression appearing genuinely apologetic.

"Oh!" she gasped, feeling embarrassed. She hoped, on top of her already hideous appearance, she wasn't blushing now as well. "No, well, I mean, it's disappointing, but I don't exactly know you, and—"

"Esme," he chided, smiling as he now interrupted her. "Right now, I think you just need to sleep and get some rest. You've had quite the ordeal this evening."

"I'm sorry," she now apologized, biting her lip and half grinning. "I guess I should get a little rest. Will I… um, will you still be here when I wake up?"

"Only if you sleep till dusk tomorrow," he winked. "I'm on the night shift."

"Oh," she said again, internally scolding herself on the lack of verbosity she seemed to possess at the moment. And she normally prided herself on her way with words. Stifling a yawn, she stole another glance at her doctor.

"Sleep now, Esme. There are those who would actually love a chance for a nap every now and then," he whispered, and his voice was music to her ears, a soft lullaby and hers alone. They exchanged one more smile, before she felt her eyes close, entering dream world.

In the morning, her parents were there and fussing about, but Doctor Carlisle Cullen was gone.

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a/n: Reviews are fantastic! Please let me know what you think :D 


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